


the chelsea hotel

by konahau (naheka)



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Light Power Dyamics, Light Praise Kink, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Porn, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 11:07:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16575275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naheka/pseuds/konahau
Summary: How Scott learned to stop worrying and suck Tessa's dick.(nothing here but porn)





	the chelsea hotel

**Author's Note:**

> big kudos to cheyenne, as per usual, for helping me with awkward parts and editing.

“I’m curious,” Tessa says, pulling her mouth off Scott’s cock with a wet noise. She covers her mouth demurely as she swallows the last bit of him, thick and salty on her tongue. Dabs at the corner of her mouth with the inside of her wrist. “Do you like this better than sex?”

Scott’s eyelids flicker weakly. “Guh.”

She pokes his knee sharply, then presses a soft kiss to where her nail bit in. “I asked you a question.”

He flaps a hand at her. “Just give me a… I’m rebooting.”

There’s a streak of his come on her the edge of her lip, down to her jaw. She wipes it with her index finger and then looks at it. Considers. She crawls up into his lap, the armchair creaking. “Hey,” she murmurs, and waits until he looks at her. She licks her lips, then leaves her tongue stuck out, dragging her finger across it, leaving the streak of come on her tastebuds. She leans in and his eyes are dark and wide and shocked but his mouth is slack and pliant, opening for her when she kisses him. She licks into him with her eyes open: his teeth, the inside of his cheek. He sucks lightly on her tongue, just for a second. It looks a little stupid, she thinks, but Scott’s never been one to care about how things look. He whimpers; his hips twitch up. 

There’s spit in his mouth: his and hers. His and hers and that spurt of his own spunk and his throat works as he swallows it all down; he moans softly into her mouth.

Tessa breaks the kiss, panting, and rests her forehead on his. Tries to think of a way to avoid talking about what she just did on a whim. “I, um. I asked you a question.”

“Not to be that guy,” he manages, after another few seconds of steadying his own breathing. “But what we just did definitely qualifies as sex.”

She nips under his jaw, sucks a dark mark into the skin above his collarbone. Licks a long possessive stripe up his jugular vein. His hands smooth on her waist, across her ribs, nails dragging just the way she likes. She shivers, nuzzles her nose up under his ear. “I was just curious. Boys make such a big deal out of it, I’ve always wondered.”

“If I could blow you,” he jokes lightly, “I would.” Her stomach rumbles and she giggles into his shoulder. He slaps her hip lightly. “I can, however, feed you. Grab me some sweats and meet me in the kitchen?”

++ 

Scott googles: _can you give a girl a blowjob_. He scrolls through the results, frowning. It’s all girls giving head, which is the opposite of what he wanted. He goes to a porn site and tries again: _guy blows girl_. More of the same, and none of what he’s looking for. 

He chews on his own thumbnail, frowning. It’s--it would be something new. Scott tries not to be That Guy but sometimes he’s--he just gets jealous, that’s all. Not in any way that makes him an asshole, not like he would have if they’d gotten together when they were still in their teens. Just--he thinks sometimes, _did she do this with him?_. All the things they’ve done together and he’s none of her firsts. His own fault, and he wouldn’t change it for fear they’d never get to where they are now, which is solid and perfect and still involves therapy once a month to keep the gears oiled. 

Tessa, as he’s complained to his brothers ad nauseum, tended to date douchebags that treated her less than one percent of the fraction of how she deserved. He’d said that to her, the same night they kissed for the first time, and she’d told him none of his math made any sense. But it makes perfect sense to him: she deserves better firsts.

So he darts a furtive look towards the bedroom door (closed), nervously checks his watch (two hours before Tessa is supposed to come home), mentally psyches himself up (a muttered “don’t be a fuckwad, Moir), and rests his fingers on the keyboard of his laptop. _guy sucks girls dildo_ he taps out, and hits enter before he can change his mind.

He shouldn’t have gotten all worked over it, he thinks grumpily. The top results are grainy and involve things he has no interest in and he’s pretty sure Tessa doesn’t either, unless she’s hiding some kind of diaper kink deep deep down. He shouldn’t have bothered taking his pants off. But then--his last try. It’s grainy, not professionally lit. Amateur, the tag on the video reads, and Scott believes it. But something keeps him watching.

The girl’s got dark hair, just like Tess, he thinks, and fair skin. But she doesn’t have the muscle definition Tessa has, the scars on her legs Tessa has, the little dipping dimples in her back Tessa has. Doesn’t make the same soft breathy moans, doesn’t curl her toes and arch her neck like Tessa does. This girl doesn’t hold a candle to Tessa Virtue, but Scott doesn’t hold it against her; no woman could.

So he focuses on the black silicon between the woman’s legs. Thinks, for the first time, about being penetrated instead of being the penetrator. He winces reflexively, reconsiders the entire idea. Goes as far as hovering over the little red _x_ in the corner before he pauses. In the video, the woman slumps low on a couch, spreads her legs. Snaps her fingers once, twice.

Scott twitches a little.

She points down at the floor between her knees and the man crawls to her. He crouches on his haunches and lolls his head against the woman’s knee, making a soft needy noise. “Good boy,” the woman murmurs. She pets him, trailing her fingers through his hair, and then dragging them against his scalp hard, over and over, and his face stays uplifted towards her, his eyelids heavy and his mouth slack, expression blissfully empty. 

Scott twitches again.

The woman’s fingers rake down the man’s face, leaving light red lines in their wake; two fingertips slip into his mouth and pull his jaw open. The man makes an eager noise, shuffles as close as he can while she fucks his mouth with her fingers, at first slow and shallow and then deeper and deeper until he gags and his chest spasms and she pulls away just long enough for him to suck in a breath before doing it again.

Scott’s not sure how long that happens for, except his vision starts to go spotty and he realizes he’s been holding his own breath. He sucks in a shuddering gasp of air, and then another, and before he knows it the man on the video is a glassy eyed drooly mess and Scott is palming himself through his boxers.

When the woman’s fingers leave the man’s mouth they drip drool and spit in a thick string; it stays connected to his mouth for a second before it breaks. She wipes her fingers across his cheek, leaving a shiny trail, and then curls them around the base of her strap on. She fists herself, spit slick and lazy, and jacks the black silicon easy and slow. 

Scott leans back against the headboard of his (their) bed, hand sliding under the waistband. He matches her pace, tighter around the base and looser as he slides down his own length, twist of his wrist at the end just like she does. Pauses just long enough to lick his palm to ease the friction. 

Her hand on the base of the man’s neck, drawing him close. The way his mouth drops open and the little dart of his tongue to wet his lips and then taking the tip in his mouth, lips spread wide to give her the best view. Inch by inch, torturously slow, and she coos at him when he takes it down like a pro, all the way to the base. She holds him there, smoothing his hair and touching the bulge in his cheek. Rocks her hips forward to hear him gag and holds again, until his eyes leak tears and he’s flushed all the way down his chest. Pulls his head all the way off. “Good boy.”

“Fuck,” Scott mutters weakly. 

She does it again, slow slow slow. And then again, just a hair faster. And again, and again, and again. Fucks his mouth and his throat and tells him: how good he’s taking it, her beloved boy on his knees, his pretty drooling swollen mouth. 

Scott sucks in a single sharp breath; comes in his underwear like he’s sixteen. So hard he’s curled over at the end of it, shivery and shuddering and still weakly spurting after ten full seconds. 

In the video, she’s still going, the man whimpering and begging for more in little weak garbled whispers. 

Scott flops down onto the bed and pants into the bedcovers, flushed and sweaty and thinking about Tessa’s legs under his hands, a pillow under his knees, if she’d get wet just from that. If she’d let him touch himself while she fucks his mouth. If she wouldn’t, he thinks, and whimpers a little himself.

 

When he’s recovered, he peels off his sticky boxers with a grimace and does a perfunctory clean up with them. Wipes his hands on his shirt and does a little more googling. Picks out something small that promises to ship in discreet packaging and enters his credit card information before he can change his mind.

++

“Scott,” Tessa calls out from the kitchen when he gets home. “Something came in the mail for you.”

Scott freezes in the act of taking off his jacket. “Yeah?” he asks, trying for nonchalant. “Did you… open it?”

“No, it’s on the table. Come look at this.”

He goes into the kitchen, finds her peering at something on the stove. Snuggles up behind her and drops an absent minded kiss to her shoulder. “Uh oh, T-Bone at the stove.”

She smacks at his chest. “Shut up and look at this. Do you think it’s supposed to be this color?”

He peers into the pot. “I don’t think anything is supposed to be that color.”

She sighs, opens the drawer and fishes out a takeout menu. “Chinese or Indian?”

“Chinese.” He shifts awkwardly on his feet, looking out into the dining room at the little brown box on the table. “You know what I like, right? I’m gonna change.”

“Yeah,” she says absentmindedly, already dialing her phone. “Fried rice or noodles?”

“Both.”

He lingers in the doorway until she greets the restaurant--by name, one of them has really got to learn how to cook something that isn’t breakfast based--before snatching up the small box and scurrying into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

He rips the box open, using his keys to tear at the packing tape. And nestled inside some bubble wrap: two boxes. A harness and a dildo, and he turns them over, looking at the pictures and diagrams.

Tessa raps on the door and he jumps, dropping the boxes on the floor with a clatter and a yelp. “Are you gonna shower?” Tessa asks. “We have twenty minutes before the food gets here.”

“No,” Scott calls out in a panic, wrenching open the bottom drawer under the counter and shoving the boxes inside. “I’m coming out.”

He opens the door and tries for a casual smile. “Hey.”

She’s looking at him askance. “Did you pee?”

“Yes,” Scott says decisively. “Just pee, and nothing else.”

Tessa’s nose wrinkles. “Wash your hands, Scott, jeez.”

“Yup,” Scott says, turning too quickly to the sink. He knocks over the soap the first two times he tries to use it, and turns the hot water tap too far on, wincing at the temperature. “All done,” he says cheerfully, and turns around. “Did you get noodles or rice?”

Tessa’s now staring. “I… both. You’re dripping.”

Scott wipes his hands on his pants, his palms inexplicably sweaty. He tries again for a nonchalant smile. “Wine?”

“You clearly need it,” Tessa says, but she kisses him lightly and fondly and holds his hand to the kitchen.

++

They eat takeout with wooden chopsticks and he feeds her bites between his own and she makes fun of him for dropping noodles on his shirt so he takes it off and then the carton is on its side on the table and he’s got a warm lapful of Tessa, necking like teenagers and giggling between kisses. He frees her hair from its ponytail and tilts her head back to scrape at her neck with his teeth and leave light stubble burn she’ll grumble about later. She’s so sensitive his barely-two-o’clock-shadow leaves her skin pink. 

“You need to shave,” she grumps, right on schedule, and he smiles into her chest. Licks at the hollow of her throat. She sits up in his lap, knees braced on the sofa, and takes his hand in hers. Guides his fingers to the crotch of her soft little shorts and presses them against her. Rocks against his fingers, grinds against his wrist, and fuck if he isn’t hard in two seconds, Tessa taking charge and taking what she wants. 

He pulls at her waistband and she grabs his wrist with a curl of her lip. He freezes, eyes wide and heart pounding, and tilts his head back to bare his throat. She bites him, hard, and sucks until it’s right there on the knife’s edge, pain and pleasure and sharp throbbing pangs that shoot straight to his cock in time with his pulse. “Good,” Tessa murmurs, pulling back slightly to look at her handiwork.

He puts his palms flat on the underside of her thighs and she flexes, steadying herself automatically. “Can I?” he asks, and when she nods he lifts her, his back against the couch and his head tipped back slightly. Her legs land on his shoulders and he’s made fun of them before but he’s never been so thankful her faux-boxer pajama shorts are so thin, because he grabs the button hole and rips them in two before hooking his fingers in her panties and pulling them to the side.

One hand holding her panties and the other on her hip and she wobbles just a little before adjusting her weight and she’s already wet for him but he thinks he can make her wetter. Make her drip. One long lick to start and she shudders, a hand fisting in his hair. He goes pliant for her, lets her direct him, his lips and his teeth and his chin, lets her grind on his face and make her pretty Tessa noises and hums obediently when she tells him _harder_ or slower or _just like that, Scott, Jesus_. She braces with her toes, that dancer grace he’s never quite been able to achieve as well she does just by breathing and being her amazing self, and frees one of her hands to rub her clit, head tipped back and chest heaving and next time he’ll be sure she’s topless because fuck, what a view.

She comes with a shudder and a moan that cracks in the middle; he takes everything she gives him and thanks her for it.

 

She slides down his front to rest in his lap and he hisses at her weight and pressure on his cock. “Give me a second,” she says, her sweaty temple against his. “I’ll--”

He squeezes her hip. “Wait--can you… your hand?”

She blinks, then smiles, soft and loving. “Yeah.”

He hisses against when she eases his zip down and she murmurs comfortingly, clever hands pulling his pants open and slipping into his boxers, taking out his cock. She’s gentle, but firm, and teases him a little until he whimpers: “Please.”

“My hand, huh?” She says, and the glint in her eye is as terrifying as it is tantalizing. “Surprising.”

He can’t stop looking at her hand on him, moving painstakingly slowly. She squeezes firmly around the base and he yelps. “Tess, Jesus.”

“What was in the box?”

Scott blinks. “What?” He tries to thrust into her hand, but she doesn’t let him. “Tess--”

“What was in the box?”

He wriggles; his entire body jolts like a livewire when she runs her thumb over the head of him. “Ah,” he pants, “ah, fuck, no fair.”

She leans in and licks at her mark on his throat. Then she bites down. He makes a noise he’s never made before. “Tell me,” she murmurs, “and I’ll give you want you want.”

“I’ll tell you,” he pants, almost deliriously. “Because you asked me.”

“Good,” she praises, and he whimpers again. “Tell me,” she coaxes, “I’ve got you, just tell me--”

“A strap on,” he blurts, and her hand stops moving. She blinks. “And a harness,” he babbles, “that’s it, Tee, _please_.”

“Okay,” she soothes, recovering quickly. “Okay. I’m going to take care of you.” She leans in close, her voice soft and fond. “You’re a mess.”

He’s still got her all over his face, he realizes. “Yeah,” he mumbles with a sigh, the tension bleeding out of his muscles. Her palm slips across his face, gathering some of her slick to wet her palm, then wraps around his cock again and starts to pump. “Oh,” he sighs, and thrusts up into her hand.

She holds his hip down to keep him still. “I’ve got you,” she repeats, and kisses him once before licking up his check with a the broad flat of her tongue, over and over, cleaning herself off his face. “Come for me,” she orders, and he obeys. 

 

After, she draws a bath and pokes him right under his ribs in the place that makes him jump until he drags himself off the couch and into the tub with her. She lets her legs float to the top and he rests against the tub with her back to his chest. The water is hot and soft and silky because she put what he privately thinks of as her girly shit in it, and he sighs as he sinks down. She leans her head on his shoulder and makes a pleased noise. “We need to shower after this,” she muses idly.

“Mmhm.”

“Put the food away.”

“Sure.”

“Talk about the dildo you hid in the guest towels.”

“Why do we have a whole drawer for guest towels,” Scott complains, and then processes the full sentence. “Oh.”

She touches his knee reassuringly under the water. “You wouldn’t have bought it if you didn’t intend to talk about it?”

“We are not bringing this up in therapy,” Scott grumbles. “And you’re better at talking about feelings.”

“I have not yet mastered the art of reading your mind,” Tessa responds dryly.

Scott fidgets, the bathwater sloshing against the sides of the tub. “I--just think, it could be--only if you want, I mean.” He groans, closing his eyes. “I should have talked to you first.”

“You’re talking to me now.”

Scott sinks until his mouth is just underwater. Tessa turns and presses her thumb to the furrow between his brows. He blows sullen bubbles at her. 

“Nothing has to happen,” she reminds him. “But nothing will, either, if you can’t even say it.”

“Not tonight.” He’s not ready. Not yet.

She kisses the tip of his nose above the water. “Not tonight,” she agrees, and snuggles in for a soak.

++

And then she just… doesn’t bring it up. 

Scott waits. He even tries to hint at it. But she doesn’t take the bait. It’s still--life with Tessa, _with_ Tessa, it’s still better than anything else in the world. He’d trade both legs and all three medals for it. But every morning when he’s brushing his teeth he looks at that drawer and thinks about what’s inside.

There’s a long weekend coming up, he thinks while he scrolls through the calendar on his phone. There’s a long weekend coming up.

 

He cooks for her, one of the mealkits they’re doing a promotion for, and she hovers over his shoulder and makes little nervous suggestions until he threatens her with a wooden spoon and she withdraws to a safe distance to pour them more wine and put on Hall and Oates as cheap revenge.

They wash dishes after, sickeningly domestic, taking turns drying and getting distracted with little tipsy doting kisses and cheeky gropes with sudsy hands. 

“I,” Scott says, with the sink still running behind him. He’s got her up on the counter, standing between her legs, her arms looped around her neck. “I, was thinking.”

“I like it this length,” Tessa protests, cupping his hair protectively.

“No, not that. The guest towels.”

Tessa stills. “The guest towels.”

He looks over her shoulder at the cabinet, nervous. “I, um. I was thinking…”

She tugs him close for a steadying kiss. “Tell me,” she coaxes.

“You asked me about blowjobs, about how you’d always wondered.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “I remember.”

“I was thinking you could find out for yourself.”

Tessa’s breath catches. “You really want that?”

Scott thinks about the video, about how he came so hard he felt it in his toes. “Yes.”

“Tomorrow,” Tessa decides. “I want to do research.”

“Nerd,” he says cheerfully, and takes her to bed. They have all weekend.

++

When he wakes the next morning Tessa is already up. “Oh god,” he says blearily, rubbing at his eyes, “who’s died?”

“Shut up,” she says, without heat, and flicks her finger against her phone’s screen, reading intently.

He tickles the underside of her knee. “Pay attention to me. Tess. Hey, Tess. Hey. Pay attention--”

She straddles him, rolling her eyes, but her tone is fond. “You’re ridiculous.” She kisses him, and it’s harder than their usual morning kisses, more teeth and he’s breathing harder when it’s done. She’s slightly pink in the cheeks. “Sorry. Research.”

Scott tugs playfully at her ponytail to hide his awkwardness. “Research got you riled up?”

“Yes,” she says simply, and his laugh dies in his throat; he shivers. She kisses him again, more lightly. “But that’s for later. Now I’m hungry.” 

She looks at him expectantly. Scott points at his own crotch and raises a questioning eyebrow; Tessa shoves him off the bed and forces him to make her pancakes.

++

Scott is banned from the kitchen for the entirety of the time Tessa wrestles a boxed mac and cheese into submission, and he does a little paperwork, plays a game on his phone, absentmindedly yells at the idiots on the news. Adulthood, he thinks, and dares to poke his head into the kitchen. “Smells great,” he encourages, Tessa crouched by the oven and staring into its depths. “Need help?”

“No. I’m going to win.”

Scott looks around the empty room. “Against who?”

“The oven,” Tessa responds, not breaking her gaze. 

“Right,” Scott says, after a beat. “I’m going to open some wine. You should have some.”

 

Tessa’s not any better at taking compliments than he is, she just hides it better. So he makes loud chewing noises and pats his belly until she throws a dinner roll at him and then it’s just… them. Eating dinner in their apartment and talking about work and family and the weird guy who recognized Tessa at the bank and how Scott’s mom wants them to swing over for dinner with his brothers next weekend. It’s everything he dreaded, as a kid watching his parents. How unbelievably embarrassing he found it, how dull. How the reality of it is the most at peace he’s ever been.

Later, the lights down low and her body moving in his lap, her soft sweet noises and the way she says his name. “Tess,” he murmurs, “now?”

“Now,” she agrees, and he scoops up the harness and the toy eagerly, his hands shaking as he arranges it. “Like this,” she corrects, taking it from him and standing. “I watched the instructional video.”

“Nerd,” he jokes, but his voice breaks with nerves. 

She pauses, naked and the toy in her hands. “Are you--we can stop?”

He bites his lip. “If you don’t want, we don’t have to.”

She touches his jaw, and tilts his head up to face her. “What do you want?”

Scott takes a shuddering breath, his heart pounding. He’s already hard. “I want to blow you.”

Her eyes go dark, the pupils dilating. “Help me get this on.” He guides the straps around her hips. “Tighter. Just a little--yes.” He smoothes his fingers across the buckle. He fumbles with the dildo itself, and just when he’s got it positioned, his fingers slip off the end and it springs free, whapping him slightly in the jaw. Tessa dissolves into giggles; Scott grabs her around the waist in revenge and they tussle playfully on the bed before she nips his bicep and swings herself around to straddle his waist.

She peers down at herself. “It looks stupid.”

“They all look stupid, we just pretend they don’t. A male secret for you.” Scott curls his fingers around her cock, scrunching his skin against the silicone. “It’s soft.”

Her hand covers his, taking over the pace. “Do you like it?” She shifts up his chest, inch by inch, and if he configures his neck just right he can lick the top of it. Her breath catches.

“I like it,” he murmurs, and she bends to kiss him messy. 

They scramble around, graceless in their eagerness, and settle into a new position: Tessa sitting the bed with her back against the headboard, Scott kneeling between her slightly spread legs. He spreads them a little wider, palming her calves, her knees, up her thighs. “I,” Tessa says hoarsely, and then stops when he lays flat on his belly, his elbows propped up. He draws his legs up underneath himself and Tessa hums, a hand winding in his hair to pull him down to her.

“You?” he asks, his hand curled around the base of her, her legs hooked around him. 

Tessa’s staring at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “What?”

“You were saying something.” He licks at the tip curiously and she makes a choking noise.

“I have no idea,” she admits, and he smiles up at her. There’s a furrow between her brows. “You… it’s okay?”

He licks at the tip again. “Yes.”

“Okay,” she breathes, and her hand in his hair tightens its grip. “I like it too.” She pulls him onto her cock, and he relaxes his mouth to take it, just the first inch. Tessa makes a soft hungry noise. “Okay?”

He locks eyes with her and takes another inch, humming. 

She touches his cheek, the bulge the dildo makes in it. “Stick your tongue out.”

When he obeys she shifts her hips and tugs him forward. He moans, muffled and garbled and wet. He brings his hand up to wipe at the drool on his chin and she intercepts it. He blinks at her, questioning.

“Messy,” she murmurs, and gently but insistently pushes his hand away. “More?”

Scott nods, best he can, and starts to bob his head. It’s awkward, the angle and his clumsy unfamiliarity, and he goes too far, gagging.

Tessa smoothes his hair. “Relax. Breathe through your nose. Go slow.”

He takes a deep breath. She touches his throat, fingertips on his adam’s apple. Go slow, Scott thinks, and starts again.

“I thought about what to tell you,” Tessa says, after a few seconds. “I wrote a list, even.”

Scott’s lips twitch around the rubber. Tessa and her lists.

She tweaks his nose and jogs her hips to bring his focus back to the task at hand. “Pay attention. Don’t you want to hear my list?”

Scott’s got it almost halfway down now, holding for a few seconds at a time before pulling off to pant hoarsely. Again and again and again, nice and slow.

“List of tips,” she continues, a drag of her nails across his scalp in reward. “Messy is good.” She touches his chin, wet with drool, the stretch of his lips. He starts to wipe at it again and she wrenches his hair in reprimand, releasing when he squeaks. “What did I just say?”

“Messy is good,” Scott tries to parrot back. It’s so garbled there’s no way she could have made it out, but she smiles, smoothing his hair over where she pulled it. 

“Good,” she says, and Scott swallows a moan of his own. “I, um. I had more tips, but you’re--”

Scott feels it, in his throat. He breathes in short hard pants through his nose, he’s achingly hard.

“F-fuck,” Tessa stutters, and her back arches, her head tipped back against the wall. Her feet scrabble on the mattress. 

He holds her hip down, the base steady. Pulls all the way off long enough to smirk before he starts again, more confident than before. Tongue stuck out to smooth the glide and spit messy, the clutch of Tessa’s hands in his hair, the way the silicon feels against his teeth and inside his throat. Her thighs flex; she catches his gaze and holds it. He can hear himself, the wet obscene noises of it, slick slide of spit and the suckling of his tongue. He whines eagerly.

Her grip changes to his shoulder, bracing him; she starts to roll her hips in line with his movements, hold his jaw for him. Scott loses track of time, of his sense of focus. His mind goes floaty, his thoughts fuzzy. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears, feel the flex of her fingers on him.

“-ott,” She says. “Scott?”

He blinks, his gaze slowly focusing. He feels syrup slow and hypersensitive, mouth sliding off the dildo with a wet noise. “Hi.”

“You okay?”

He wipes his mouth on the inside of her thigh. “Could die a happy man.” He shifts on his haunches, wincing slightly. “A _very_ happy man.”

“Poor boy,” she coos at him, and he mock growls into the crease of her hip as he unbuckles the harness and strips it away; it tumbles off the bed and thumps onto the floor. “Gross,” Tessa mutters, but then he’s parting her long pale legs and palming her ass and he lifts her, easy as anything, right to his mouth. Tessa sighs, long and drawn out, and her heels press into his back. “You did so well,” she continues, hitching in the middle when he grazes his teeth across her clit. “So good.”

He spreads her open and licks into her, and he can’t hear her praises when her thighs clamp around his ears. He can hear her heart, and her pants; he can taste her in his mouth and his nose and he can feel the rumble of her moans.The silk flutter clench of her when she comes. And then the other side, the trembling of her aftershocks and the way their breathing syncs.

He crawls up her body for a kiss and his dick slides on her skin, the ridges of her abs, and he shudders with the exertion of holding himself up. Her hair is a haloed mess of tangles and her lips are bitten red and she smiles into their kiss. “That was fun.” Her smile is pure mischief drenched in sex, her tongue curling between her teeth playfully. 

Scott grins back. “Didn’t I tell you sex with me would be fun?” He had, very solemnly, on their third official date. It was part of his premade pros and cons list of dating him exclusively, which he carefully scribed onto index cards before they met. He thinks he might have won her over when she noticed he’d color coordinated his highlighting.

Now she just rolls her eyes at him. Then she drags her nails down his throat hard enough to leave lines and it’s his turn for his eyes to roll. “It is fun,” Tessa decides, taking him in hand. Scott makes a noise like he’s dying, every nerve alive under the faint pressure of her fingers. 

“A-ah, please be nice.”

“Hmm,” Tessa mock-considers, starting to move her hand. “Am I a nice person?”

Scott moans when she flicks her wrist just so. “Is this--fuck--is this like the ‘I’m fat’ question?”

She nips his ear. “I’ve never asked you that.”

“But you are now, right?” Scott can barely get the banter out, he’s breathing so hard. “I read about this in _Cosmo_.”

Tessa giggles again. The she presses her thumb right to the slit of him, and his arms give out. He collapses onto her, choking and writhing and coming, and she runs her palm up his spine and murmurs softly into his ear and never lets go and maybe he cries, but only a little.

Dripping sweat and wrung out, he rolls off her and only makes it halfway, flopping onto his side. She wriggles to face him and he slings an arm over her waist, pulling her as close as possible. “We have to clean up,” she reminds him, but he can tell her heart isn’t in it. “Shower,” she protests weakly, when he tugs a sheet over them.

“Sshh.”

“We’re gonna be gross,” she grumbles, but then she tucks her face up under his neck and heaves a little contented sigh and he knows he’s bought a few minutes. He drags the sheet roughly across their skin and tosses it to the side to be changed when she inevitably demands they clean up.

She pulls a pillow under his head and rubs behind his ear a little before dropping her hand and snuggling closer. “High five,” Scott says, and holds his hand up. “We just rocked that.”

“Hell yeah,” Tessa agrees, and they slap their sweaty palms together.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think and I'm on tumblr @ konahau


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